


Picture Perfect

by smoakmonster



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Photography, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2018-12-15 02:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoakmonster/pseuds/smoakmonster
Summary: How Oliver Queen secretly catalogs his marriage to Felicity Smoak-Queen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starting another series, because I don’t have enough to do apparently. I have no end target in mind for this. I’ve just got a bunch of faceless photos that remind me of Felicity, and they need to be used. So here we go!

* * *

 He doesn’t mean to see the bride before the wedding.

One moment, he’s racing across the lawn– _in his tux_ –because Thea said there was some kind of emergency with the ring bearer? And  _apparently_ Uncle Oliver is the only one who can console John Junior. While it’s not ideal to be dragging the ends of his suit through the damp grass, Oliver is absolutely not going to let his best man down in his time of need…

But in the next moment, everything changes.

He blinks, and a vision of white in his periphery literally stops him in his tracks. Oliver freezes so abruptly he almost loses his footing–and he  _never_  loses his footing. He’s fought Mirakuru soldiers and magic and  _aliens_ …but all it takes is one woman in white to make him stumble in the best way. His heart’s been stumbling since the day he met her, since the day his well-thought plans slowly began unraveling. Why should today be any different? Of course all of his previous intentions fall at the mercy of her feet. He’ll happily keep stumbling for the rest of his life, as long as he gets to stumble with her beside him every step of the way.

Even as he struggles to catch a full breath, Oliver can’t help but move closer. The world could be crumbling all around them, and he wouldn’t notice or care.

Felicity stands with her back towards him, a colorful bouquet clasped between her hands, and yet he barely notices, unable to tear his gaze from the flowers tucked in her loose waves or the layer of pink and tan skin peeking out over the top of her dress–not quite as tan as when they were in Bali but a little darker than usual. Since announcing their engagement, she’s been slowly building up a tolerance for whatever “sun-filled excursion” he’s promised to take her on for the honeymoon.

She stands shrouded in greenery, and the branches themselves seem to be converging towards her, creating a natural archway. The earth bends for her. For so long he lived in the woods, but he never felt at home in them. Yet she seems to make everything feel like home.

Oliver is equally struck by how different her dress is compared to the one she wore during that…ridiculous,  _fake_  wedding that still felt painfully real to him. While this dress may not fan out like a ballgown, this one flows down her body in an alluring manner, garnished in simple but elegant lace and more buttons. Maybe he’s biased considering the day, but somehow this dress feels more… _Felicity_.

Oh, he wants to marry her right  _now_. Ten minutes suddenly feels far too long. 

Before he has a chance to give it too much thought, he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket and snapping a quick photo of his wife-to-be.

Felicity must hear the rustle of fabric, or her  _technology-is-near_  sixth sense must start tingling, because suddenly she spins around, thankfully just as he’s stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

“Hey,” she says, looking surprised but not displeased to see him.  

“Hey,” he says, aiming for casual, but his heart gets caught in his throat when she turns around completely. “Oh, Felicity, you look…” He can’t seem to come up with the right words to describe her or how he feels seeing her like this.  _Beautiful_ seems too small.

She tips her head, blushing a little. “So do you.”

He swallows, his voice finally coming back to him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, I just…um…I needed to get away for a bit. My mom’s been hovering and I know she means well, but I didn’t get my regular coffee this morning so I’ve been off my game all day. And then when she and Curtis started arguing about which perfume would go best with the bouquet, I started getting a headache, and I just–”

“Felicity.” He takes a step closer, already laying a hand on her shoulder.

She sighs, and he can  _feel_  the muscles in her shoulder relaxing. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

She licks her lips, studying him for a bit, before she suddenly asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine.”

“ _Fine.”_ She sounds skeptical. “Not good. Not great. Just fine?”

He tries to ignore the panic the flares inside his chest. Everything is  _great_ , of course, but he’s suddenly feeling nervous for reasons he cannot explain. “I was just thinking…”

“About?” When he doesn’t reply right away, she reaches up to run her palm against his cheek. Out of habit he leans into her touch, wondering if he could stay like this forever. “Hey, talk to me,” she says.

There are too many thinks to pin down, so he settles for the one thing he can. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” he breathes.

And he knows the answer to that. Because they weren’t ready before. Because of the vocations they’ve chosen. Because of a million other reasons and excuses and just… _life_  always seeming to get in the way of them.

“The important thing is we are now,” she answers, sounding so wise and sure.

He nods, needing a few more seconds for her words to fully sink in.

“Oliver, if you’re…you’re not ready, we can postpone–”

“I don’t want to postpone.”

Felicity smiles, clearly relieved.

“Do…do  _you_  want to postpone?” he asks softly.

She shakes her head abruptly. “I want to be married to you.”

His heart practically leaps out of his chest hearing her say that, as though he’s asking her to marry him for the first and fourth time all over again. “Good.” And out of habit, he leans in to kiss her, but Felicity starts pulling away from him.

“Oliver, we can’t. It’s bad luck to…before…”

“Okay,” he says softly and settles for kissing the top of her head instead, careful not to mess up her hair. This way he’s not breaking the rules, technically. Besides, what harm can one little kiss do at this point? Will everything they’ve worked for come crashing down because the groom accidentally stumbled into the bride before the wedding? They’ve beaten better odds, surely.

Oliver notices that familiar glint in her eye, just before she winks at him, like she knows what he’s thinking. She always knows. “Don’t worry, Mr. Queen. I can keep a secret.”

And then, much too soon, she’s walking away from him.

He’s antsy for the next eight and a half minutes, until the moment she’s finally walking back toward him.

They spend an unnecessary small fortune having their photos professionally taken during the ceremony and reception. But the photo he secretly took of her in the woods remains his favorite, and it stays set as his phone background during their first six months of marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo Source: [rosecoloredbouquet.tumblr.com](https://rosecoloredbouquet.tumblr.com/post/143169030988)


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The day before William is supposed to set off to MIT, they make the long trip to their favorite spot along the rocky west coast beach, just like those early summer days, when the three of them were slowly learning how to be a new family together. It’s hard to believe that it has been almost eight years since William first came to stay with him. It’s hard to believe he’s leaving in less than eighteen hours.

Being a full-fledged parent has been the sweetest and speediest time of Oliver Queen’s life.

At first, Oliver is reluctant to make the three hour drive, just to ensure that they are the last ones in their state to see the sunset. But when both William  _and_ Felicity hit him with those big, pleading eyes, Oliver knows he’s doomed. He’s never been able to refuse either of them, and together they present an unyielding front, which the pair of them routinely and unabashedly take full advantage of. Felicity even offers her best plea, puckering her lips in an oh-so enticing manner; meanwhile, William casually reminds him that this will be “the last time I’m on this side of the continent for a while, Dad.” Oliver gulps at that. As if he needed the reminder that after tonight he won’t be able to hug his son again until Thanksgiving break. 

With the youngest Queen hanging out with Rene and Zoe for the weekend anyway, Oliver quickly runs out of halfhearted excuses. 

The entire drive over, Felicity and William chat almost incessantly--well, Felicity chats, and William manages to chime in every few sentences, keeping the conversation flowing as Felicity instills final doses of college life lessons in her animated way. The day William got accepted to MIT, she was so proud--beyond proud, really. She was practically  _glowing_. And that glow certainly has not wavered tonight, as his wife jovially launches into her story about the secret passageway through the student union she stumbled upon sophomore year. 

Oliver meets William’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and the two share a knowing, patient smile. 

“...and no matter what anyone says, you do not need to join a hacktivist group to save the world. Honestly, I don’t know who’s more excited you’re going, you or me. I think meeee...” 

Felicity’s laugh suddenly turns into a whine, and a hand flies up and grips the arm holding the steering wheel fiercely, desperately, lovingly. “Oh God, I’m being my mother. Why didn’t you stop me?”

Oliver chuckles. “Felicity, when have I  _ever_ been able to stop you from talking?”

She gives his arm a different kind of squeeze then, her touch softer, slower; but for a moment his nerve endings forget about the steering wheel.

Felicity is extremely playful at the beach (barring the presence of landmines), something Oliver initially discovered when they were together in Bali the first time. This time, the three of them spend a solid hour kicking water at each other and dunking one another under the waves and looking for shells and seeing who can hold their breath the longest. Oliver still wins the latter game. 

“Hey, Shakespeare!” Felicity calls. “Come put those architectural skills to good use and help me make a sandcastle!”

Oliver shakes his head as  _Shakespeare_  darts out of the water to help her get started. It’s her nickname for William, something they’ve shared since the year he had to read Romeo and Juliet for school. Oliver still remains unclear on the origin story behind the name, whether it was a jest that turned into genuine affection or some sort of reverse-psychology Felicity experimented with to push his son-- _their_  son--to try his best. Either way, the name stuck, and William has flat-out insisted that “when he joins Team Arrow,” Shakespeare will be his code name. 

 _W_ _hen_ he joins. Not if. 

The idea of his son one day fighting crime alongside him, following in  _his_  legacy, gives Oliver mixed feelings at best. Thankfully, both he and Felicity managed to convince him on the importance of finishing college before making any other life decisions. He has at least four more years before accepting the inevitable.

Oliver is content to spend the next half hour watching his family sculpt with damp sand, while he entertains himself with a book and answering a few “yes, Felicity, I’m sorry, it’s work” calls. He barely manages to dodge a fistful of sand during his fourth call. 

Still, all good things must come to an end. But if Oliver has learnt anything over the past decade it’s that an ending is not something to be feared. Because an ending also means a new beginning.

Around sunset, as the tide comes in, Felicity and William sit on their beach towels and watch their masterpiece slowly crumble and wash away. Felicity grows uncharacteristically quiet, leaning her head on William’s shoulder. He notices the way his son hunkers down a little, so Felicity doesn’t have to stretch her neck to press against him. William has grown so much this past year; it won’t be long till he reaches his height. 

Oliver’s heart pinches with warmth as he watches his son wrap his arm around Felicity’s back. 

“Hey Felicity?” William mutters, barely a whisper above the noise of the crashing waves.

“Yeah?”

“I’m...I’m really gonna miss you.”

Oliver gulps, and Felicity must too, because it takes her a moment to answer. “Me too, buddy. But we can Skype whenever you want.”

“It’s not the same thing,” sighs William.

“I know.”

An odd yet hopeful sensation fills Oliver’s chest as he watches his wife and son bond right before his eyes. It’s strange and yet...satisfying in a way he can’t quite put into words, to be a spectator of his own family, to linger on the fringe of participation with wonder.

Taking advantage of the last bit of sunlight they have left, Oliver quickly takes out his phone and steals a quick photo of the two of them in their own little bubble. Through the wave of tears suddenly blurring his vision, it takes him three tries to capture the moment.

The evening tide soon washes away any of evidence of their presence on the beach.

But the cherished image Oliver snaps in secret never gets deleted...from his phone or his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo Source: [www.mazisahilpansiyon.com](http://www.mazisahilpansiyon.com/iletisim.html)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellllloooooo!! I am back with another chapter in this series! Sorry it's taken so long for me to update this one. I struggled for a long time with this photo, trying to make it work. And finally, with Oliver's release from prison, I was inspired. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This one takes place somewhere between 7x07 and 7x08.

 

* * *

 

With fluttering eyes, he wakes up to a clean, white ceiling and the onslaught of softness, crushing him from all sides. He’s drowning in comfort too good to be real. The bed seems to bend to the contours of his back, and the warm blankets brush like silk against his skin, rather than sandpaper.

This is as close to heaven as he’s ever been. 

In the haze of morning light beaming down on him, Oliver lingers on the slab, teetering on the edge of sleep. Foolishly, he lets himself drift, indulging in this strange, pleasant kind of dream his mind has conjured up. Pretending is the sweetest kind of torture. He is back in Star City. He’s spent the night holding his wife. He shuts his eyes tight, rebelliously blocking out the light, keeping another day of heavy monotony and callous survival at bay for just a few seconds longer…. It won’t be long before the guard starts banging on the cell bars. 

His heart races with the dread of it--

The sharp scent of coffee snaps him awake.

A ceiling fan stares back at him. 

He frowns, but the biting seconds pass…and a few more after that…and the clanging never comes.

And then he remembers. The day of his release. Coming home. Taking a shower, his body on edge the entire time, waiting for the attack that would never come. His muscles shaking for hours long after the adrenaline wore off. Getting a phone call from William and crying at the sound of his son’s voice. Spending the whole night in his wife’s arms, running her hair through his fingers. Sleeping for  _days_. 

Oliver sinks deep into the mattress with the relief of it all. This is real. He’s really home.

It almost feels too good to leave. When he stretches, his hand catches the creased indention of where her head was just minutes ago. Hours ago? 

Meaning she’s up before him. Again. This is unusual for them. He’s the early riser in their relationship. But then again, he’s never slept so well in his life. It’s like his body has been making up for lost sleep from the past eleven years. 

Finding a pair of discarded sweatpants on the floor, he dresses quickly before rounding the corner and stepping into the kitchen. Oliver rubs his eyes, fighting the intense sunlight streaming through the impossibly large living room windows. Was there a time when he thought  _just_ Central City was too bright for him? Everything seems too bright now. He doesn’t remember Star City ever being this sunny. Or maybe he just didn’t realize what true sun deprivation felt like until now.

The entire ARGUS-issued apartment is minimal yet pristine, like something out of an IKEA store, wall after wall coated in Eggshell White. Or Baby Powder. Or something to that effect. 

His eyes naturally follow the long countertops until they land on the soft glow of the woman currently making coffee and wearing one of his new collared shirts like she belongs in it. His favorite Egyptian cotton shirt swallows her frame, concealing the majority of her soft curves, except for those legs of hers peaking out from underneath, teasing him.

So maybe he’s willing to sacrifice ever wearing that shirt again if this is what he gets to wake up to in the future. That is part of what makes marriage work, isn’t it? Sharing. 

With a smug smile, Oliver leans against the wall range as he studies the way Felicity moves around the kitchen with graceful ease, oblivious to his presence. Or maybe she’s only pretending to be oblivious. He had planned to surprise her with breakfast this morning, but it looks like she’s beaten him to it. 

The longer he watches, measuring coffee grinds and gathering pans and collecting eggs from the fridge, the more perplexed he grows. Something about his wife has changed. There’s a new kind of certainty to her movements. His heart pinches unexpectedly when he figures it out.

Felicity knows her way around a kitchen.

She doesn’t need his help.

She’s a natural at this. 

When did she become a natural at this? 

Oliver swallows down irrational disappointment. What did he expect would happen anyway? That the people he loved would just stay frozen in amber while he was away? Still, he can’t stop the wave of frustration that floods his veins. He’s missed so much. He’s missed every triumphant meal she’s made to get here. Every meal Felicity and William have shared --as a family. He didn’t get to celebrate those small victories with her.

Oliver looks down, turning away from some undefinable, unfair ache. 

He spies her tablet on the counter just a foot away from him, the screen filled with an algorithm already running. Pulled by some deeply familiar yet nearly forgotten habit, Oliver carefully slides the tablet onto his palm. 

Marriage is all about sharing, after all.

Oliver shakes his head. He can only hope his wife will be forgiving about letting him borrow her electronic device this one instance. But this is something he just needs to do. (And he no longer owns a phone. ARGUS is supposed to issue him one tomorrow.) 

Before he’s really even made the conscious choice, he opens the camera. He hardly understands why he does it. Maybe to ease the ache building inside his chest. Maybe to make up for all the time he’s missed. 

Fighting shaking hands, Oliver snaps a photo of his wife happily pouring boiling water into a french press, her hair a vibrant wall agonizingly obscuring her face. 

Yet when he sets the tablet back down, the rattle of plastic against the tile alerts her to his presence.

Her heads snaps up. He meets her eyes. 

There’s a sad hesitancy in her gaze he can’t pin down, but she blinks it away before he can even try--and suddenly she’s rushing back into his arms and he bends a little to meet her, her body a perfect fit against him, her hair still carrying the faint after-odor of strawberry shampoo from last night’s shower. Oh, how could he have forgotten  _this_?

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she mumbles against his chest before pulling back just enough to look up at him. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” he says honestly. But what an understatement.

She smiles. “This makes three days in a row that I’m up before you. That’s got to be some kind of record for us.”

He chuckles, because it’s easy to do with her. Because he  _can_ now. He can laugh about silly things again.

“You hungry?”

To be honest, he’s not. And he doesn’t understand why that is either. He shakes his head.

She gives him an admonishing look. He knows that look all too well. “Oliver. You need to eat something. You need to take care of yourself.”

“Felicity...” he starts, brushing his nose against hers, wishing he could go further, wishing he knew how to explain. Will it always be this hard? He wants to tell her everything, but it’s like the chains of prison keep weighing his thoughts down, keep frightening his voice back into the shadows....

“Hey,” Felicity touches his cheek, running her fingers in smooth, practiced circles against his freshly shaved jaw. “Trust me. Five months  _not_ getting fired as a barista has taught me a thing or two.”

She’s trying to distract him, bring him back to the here and now with her. 

He manages a small nod.

That seems to appease her worry for now. “So you just sit back, relax, and let me make you some breakfast.”

“Hmm.” When she tries to shift out of his arms, he just tightens his grip around her waist, pulling her even closer, till he’s sure she can feel his heartbeat. “I’m afraid I can only give you two out of three.”

“What?” she breathes as she runs her hands over his shoulders. And he can’t help but be secretly pleased with himself that he still has this kind of effect on her...the same way she’s always affected him.

“Well, I can sit and watch you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be relaxed about it.”

“Hey!” She swats his arm. 

Oliver laughs and waits until she looks at him again. “I wasn’t talking about the cooking,” he says against her lips. And then he kisses his wife good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo source: [eirinkristiansen](http://eirinkristiansen.no/)


End file.
